Unseen Repercussions
by sparklepop777
Summary: The funeral you're not going to see. Character Death nothing you haven't seen before , very slight Mark/Addison, very slight Mark/Lexie if you want to read it that way . Oneshot.


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Author's Note: Hi, lovelies!!! I know that I don't post on here much anymore, but I did get involved in Grey's Exchange at Livejournal, and I was able to get out a couple fics. So here they are! Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: Grey's Anatomy and its characters (all that good stuff) is the property of ABC Studios, Shonda Rhimes, and a lot more people who have more power than I do.**

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The only reason she flew up that evening was because Sam stopped her from getting into her car.

Actually, he'd grabbed her and held her down while he hollered at Dell to get Naomi, who sat her down and talked reason to her about how she was _not_ in the kind of emotional state that people should be driving in.

When that hadn't worked, she'd taken her keys with one hand and dialed the phone with the other, cancelling all her afternoon appointments so she could get Addison to LAX at the height of afternoon traffic. She knew this was important. As much as Addison had come to Los Angeles to get away from her Seattle life, there was only so much you could do at a family clinic. The stories were bound to come, like the legends Naomi had listened to when she was in medical school: open heart surgery in elevators, being in the ER that day the ferryboat accident had happened.

It had been a long time since Naomi had been _that_ medical school student, but still, she felt the feelings coming back as if by muscle memory—the fascination with these doctors who did these crazy heroic things, replaced heart valves with carrots and such. Addison talked, and she listened. That was the way it had always been.

So the name _George _had held significance for her—Sam too, she knew, or he wouldn't have been so quick to stop Addison from the half-day long drive without making a scene. He hadn't been a major player, like Derek or Mark or even Meredith. No, he'd just been _that guy_, significant but not definitive, so that when Addison was finally able to talk, all she could say was _it's George_ over and over and over.

George had been _that guy_ like Naomi had been _that girl_. And really…hadn't they all been? Her and Sam and Addison and Derek. Even Mark had his moments. Naomi had been there for a few.

And now, she saw Addison through security like a mother letting her child on her first plane ride alone, nervous, hands twisting, trying to get a glimpse of that red hair.

"Call me when you land!" she shouted to Addison, over the hubbub.

A flash of red. Addison nodded, expressionless. She looked tired. Good. She would sleep through the flight.

As soon as Addison was out of sight, Naomi called her daughter. _Mom? What do you need? Dad brought Aunt Addison's car home._

_Nothing, sweetie. I'll explain when I get home. I just needed to hear your voice._

Somehow Addison got through the flight. Her first call when she landed was to Naomi. The second was to Mark. Leave it to Mark to remember to call her about things like this. Callie wouldn't. Callie couldn't—Addison knew.

She was picked up by the smaller, softer version of Meredith Grey, who led her out to the car with such ease and care that Addison knew she'd done something like this before. She didn't speak. She seemed to know it wasn't her place. Addison wanted to say something to her to comfort her, to ease the awkwardness about what she must be feeling, but she'd do that later.

For all this girl's kindness, Mark's familiar face caught her like an anchor in a storm. But hadn't it always been that way? _Hey, how was your flight?_

_I slept for most of it._

_You know Lexie._

_Yes. I'm sorry we had to meet under these circumstances._

It sounded cold and rough coming out of her throat, but at least it was out there. Lexie nodded, keeping her eyes on the floor.

_Callie's waiting._

Addison nodded, rubbing her eyes. _It's raining outside._

_I know._

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Seattle Grace was solemn, heavy. And yet Addison felt the familiar buzz of activity—slightly faster than usual today—in the air. Things like marriages and funerals were a nightmare in places like this. Hospitals could rarely afford to let half their staff go for a couple of hours. So everyone worked a little harder to get their work out of the way, skipped lunch, arrived early and worked through the night, sleepless, chugging coffee the second they got out of the scrub rooms.

Mark went to find Callie, and a random resident let Addison into the laundry room, where she traded in her dress, jacket, and heels for a pair of scrubs and tennis shoes. It was instinct, and her face was so well-known around here that no one would look twice. She walked out and saw Alex Karev looking like death. She physically grabbed him by the shoulders and steered him into the locker room, before taking over the sutures on the man in the ER, who would have thought the situation was strange if he hadn't been in so much pain. She let him go and found the next victim, being worked on by Meredith Grey. She did the same to her, slowly rounding up the interns—residents, but they'd always be interns to her—and steering them all into the locker room, where they sat like fish that didn't know where to swim.

Bailey had seen her at one point and clucked disapprovingly to see her illegally working on patients when she didn't work there but said nothing. Instead, she went to the locker room and mustered up enough courage for a Bailey Pep Talk. Addison heard her voice as she was walking away, but she wasn't paying attention. She only saw two tall figures standing at the end of the hallway.

_Callie._

_Addison._

They started to cry.

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Mark told her the story as the three of them drove to the cemetery together. Lexie had kissed Mark on the cheek and stared at him, both hands on either side of his head, grounding him, before Lexie left to ride with Meredith, on Meredith's request, and the three were alone.

"We're doctors, not firemen. This isn't supposed to happen to us," said Callie. "It's like God didn't want him anymore."

"Don't say that." An automatic response from Addison, though she had the same thought.

"We're still here," said Mark.

"God," said Addison. Nothing attached to it, just an empty cry.

"God," repeated Mark. The words sounded strange on both of their lips. They kept driving.

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They sat in Joe's after, not really knowing any place to go. Addison was still in the borrowed scrubs. She always found them more comfortable than her other clothes, but she'd never admit that. Around them, various others sat, all drama lines dropped for a moment.

"He was on my service one day. He was good with babies," said Addison. They all had been good with babies—even Yang. "He kept running, and I asked him why he wasn't with me. And the absolute biggest load of crap came out of his mouth…something about Meredith's dad—"

"Of course," chimed in Callie, and they smiled.

"Anyway, he said 'God hates me,' and I let him go," said Addison. "That was the most I'd ever heard him say. I didn't know it then, but he was a rambler."

"Aren't we all?" asked Callie.

"I'm not," said Mark, and Callie tossed an ice cube at him.

"He didn't deserve this," said Addison, shaking her head.

"He saved someone," said Mark. "It's not a horrible way to go." Silence followed. Callie put her head down on the table. Addison met Mark's eyes across the table and picked up her drink.

"He did, didn't he?" she said, raising her class. He followed. "To George O'Malley."

"To George O'Malley."

"To George O'Malley."

"To George O'Malley." It was Lexie at the next table, raising her glass. The others followed—even Miranda Bailey, who wore the same shocked look on her face as her interns did, and they crowded around her now, sitting next to her on bar stools, adult children with alcohol in their hands. For once, she didn't push them away.

Someone's beeper went off, and everyone put down their drinks to look. A section of the bar got up and ran out the door—including Callie, who barreled her way to the front, despite her disheveled state.

Mark and Addison raised their glasses, the _clink_ of the toast sounding surprisingly loud in the still-crowded bar.

"Thanks for calling me," said Addison, letting the smooth, bitter liquid slide down her throat.

"Are you kidding?" asked Mark. "You would have gotten here somehow."

They sat and drank—nothing too different except that the empty space between them felt slightly larger that night.

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End file.
